


Everything to Lose

by keyflight790



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Knarl named Niles, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Draco Malfoy Doesn't Believe in Love, Draco Malfoy is a Little Bitter, Frottage, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Being an Asshole, Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini Do, Heartbreaker Draco Malfoy, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Knarls (Harry Potter), Lots of Weak Symbolism, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are No Longer With Us, M/M, Masters of Love, Mrs. Zabini is a Hero, Past Wall Sex, Pet Owner Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Secondary Theme: Pet Fair, Sex on Furniture, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-06-11 17:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19544386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a professional. A professional breaker-upper, that is.A story about moons and coincidences, and one very exhausted matchmaker that pulls it together at the last minute.





	1. Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[75](https://docs.google.com/document/d/16er_sVwwFtbVQxtiFqHRWhw09kwNYhywsB-R48qtVPU/edit#).
> 
> HEAPING thanks to my alpha, @inevitabledrarry, my beta @shealwaysreads and my final reader, @dewitty1! This entire fic would be nothing without you all!!!
> 
> Thank you to the mods for putting on this fest!!! I'm so excited to participate, and bring Draco and his pet into this fan_fair.

It was just another Thursday. The sun was shining, his hair was behaving properly, and just like every other Thursday, Draco Malfoy hated his job.

He hated it more than melted chocolate on his finest trousers; more than the stupid sampler Blaise got him for Christmas; more than the ruddy Dark Mark on his forearm. 

Draco used to think it could be worse, that sitting in a cell with cold bars and cold thoughts would be worse. That going to sleep and never waking up would be worse. 

However, every time he knocked on the next door, Draco thought nothing could be worse than ending _love_.

That’s essentially what he did, after all. He ended love. For one, at least. For the other person in the relationship, the love was already over, withered and dead like the plants that sat desiccated on his unattended windowsill. The person that owned the door he knocked on was still in love. Sometimes hopefully, head-over-heels in love. And it was Draco’s job to break their heart.

His knuckles rested on the cold wooden door. One sharp rap and his job would be close to over. Sometimes the knock was the hardest part of the whole thing, getting the confidence to do what he needed to be done. His heart was beating in his chest, and that never seemed to go away, no matter how many times he did this. The anxiety of destroying someone you don’t even know as part of your honest days work. 

He hesitated, reading the slip of parchment in his hand one more time. He took a deep breath, straightening the pleats in his waistcoat, before finally knocking on the sturdy wooden door in front of him. 

Draco could make out footsteps, muffled but getting closer, and he inhaled once more as the knob turned. A woman opened it, wide-eyed and curious, hair pulled back in a bun. 

“Miss, er, Sarah Hentley?” Draco asked, reading off of the card in front of him, even though he had practically memorized it. He’d even remember it days later, that name, that woman.

“Yes?” she answered, opening the door a little bit more, revealing her tiny flat entryway. Draco spotted a silver frame holding a picture of a taller bloke, arms wrapped around Miss Hentley. The picture looped, showing the pair looking into each others eyes before sneaking a kiss. His stomach churned and he coughed before beginning the poem, swirled in black ink on the parchment 

> _My dearest Sarah, I was drawn to you_ _  
> __Like a moth to a flame, our love was true_ _  
> __But moths die sometimes, and I guess we did too_  
>  Unfortunately it’s over for me and you

Draco finished the poem, rolling his eyes at the horrible word choice. He crumpled up the parchment, tucking it into his robes before deigning to look up at Miss Hentley.

“Are you...who are you?” Sarah asked curiously. She looked happy, warm. _Fuck_. Draco didn’t want to see that all go away.

He coughed, straightening his waistcoat again before beginning. “I’m Mister Malfoy, Secondary Custodian for the Master of Love.” He usually started with his speech, but something about the picture had caught him off-guard. 

“Okay,” Sarah said, still looking slightly bewildered.

Draco swallowed and continued. “And I didn’t write this horrid mess of a poem. Jack did.”

“Jack?” Sarah asked, her voice hitching, a gleeful smile spreading across her face. “I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days. Are you a friend of his?”

 _Shit._ This is why Draco always started with the speech. He was used to being blunt, getting the whole breakup over with, and fleeing before everything fell apart. 

“Not quite. Jack is breaking up with you. I’m sorry.”

He was. Every time, he was truly sorry. He hated it, hated seeing their face fall into a frown, the sparkle leave their eyes when it finally clicked who he was and what he was doing. He hated watching the love drain from their body as they closed the door. Or sometimes slammed it. Or one time kicked him in the shin before running out into the street.

No matter how quickly he blurted it out, it would never be fast enough. The heart shattered with just the tip of a knife, but it was Draco’s job to wield the blade. The cut, no matter how fast, was always deep, slicing just one more thin layer from Draco’s own heart.

Thankfully Sarah just stared at him, bewildered, before closing the door with a quiet snick, and Draco was able to breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t have to answer any more questions; he didn’t have to see her cry. 

Draco checked his bag, thankful that it was empty of more afternoon assignments, and decided to head home to his flat for the evening. Another solo dinner, a glass of wine and a long hot bath awaited him. 

He knew that he should be thankful for the gig. There were so few options after the war, with the Mark on his arm and the Manor apprehended by the Ministry. When Blaise offered him a position at his mother’s agency, _Amor_ , he seized it. Unfortunately for him, Blaise hadn’t forgiven Draco for his early-adolescent dating of his current paramour, Pansy Parkinson, and therefore assigned all the shit jobs to him.

That’s how Draco ended up in _Break-ups, Maladies, and Phenomenons_. Sometimes he was to deliver a clean break, usually in the form of a poem or a letter, or, Merlin help him, a bloody song. Other days he simply lied, telling the subject that his client was sick, dying of one illness or another, and was no longer able to attend their soirees. Occasionally he had to make up something, a magical or physical or sometimes mineral event that caused the other person to drop out of their life without explanation.

It was exhausting, watching heartbreak after heartbreak. Blaise told him at the beginning that it was fine, that people get over that stuff, they move on, they fall in love again. But Draco followed up, weeks, sometimes months after, and they were still there. Still sad, and heartbroken, and _there_ , rooted where Draco destroyed them.

Sarah’s warm eyes were still engrained in Draco’s mind as he made the final turn onto his block. The walk home sometimes helped, the sun on his back and a breeze in his hair, but then he’d see a couple, holding hands as they crossed the street, and his mind would flit to, _How soon before I’m on their doorstep?_

“No one will knock here, that’s for sure,” Draco muttered to himself as he finally ascended the three flights up to his flat off Woodshire Road. The only thing he’d benefitted out of this godforsaken job, other than a paltry paycheck every week, was the knowledge that the only thing worse than a broken heart was death itself. 

Love just wasn’t worth the risk.

Draco heard scampering and the clattering of a pot as soon as he entered his home. Niles was up to his mischief again, the damn Knarl. He shot a death glare to the sampler hanging prominently on the wall where Blaise had permanently stuck it, the cursive 'I love my Knarl' taunting him. He cursed the tiny git and his best friend before surveying the damage in the kitchen.

He had just purchased a new plant less than a week ago, and he was in no way surprised to see the auburn pot scattered on the floor, dirt and leaves covering up his previously clean kitchen. Niles skittered away, his quills pointed upward as if to say, _Don’t fuck with me_. Draco wouldn’t dare. 

A swish of his wand pieced the pot back together, and he scooped as much dirt off the floor as he could. The plant was most definitely worse for wear, however. Draco placed it in a cup, wondering once again why he even bothered. Not like anyone came to visit. 

Rolling his shoulders, Draco fixed himself some mince pies and walked to the bathroom. He poured a luxurious bath, full of all the potions he’d nicked from the Manor before everything was taken. He settled into the hot, soapy water, Accioing a glass of wine and lighting a candle with a flick of his wand.

The water soothed out the day’s tension as he focused on the warmth on his skin, the silky bubbles fluttering around his chest. He sipped his wine, closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of the day’s names and faces. 

Draco let his mind slip to happier times; the hard stone of the castle, the even harder boy that pushed him up against the wall. A flash of green before lips were on his, desperate, pleading. His hand drifted down to his thighs, caressing the tender skin as he thought about who had pressed against him there, how his hardness had felt beneath their school robes. His fingers danced over his cock, relishing in the twitch of interest.

Just as he began to relax, he heard a small splash. Niles had strutted around the porcelain basin before flipping on his back into the soothing water. Draco watched as he balled himself up, spinning around in the suds until finally crawling onto Draco’s shoulder. He shook out his quills, shooting one out and poking the lobe of Draco’s ear.

“You fucking git, go somewhere else.” Draco shooed his Knarl off of his shoulder and out of the bathtub. Niles cast him an egregious stare before padding out of the bathroom and scurrying down the hall.

 _Get a pet_ , they said. _You’ll feel less lonely_ , they said. When Draco had found Niles he was but a rubbery thing with quilled nails instead of fur. Draco thought he looked strong, resilient, like he could handle himself. All the things Draco wished he could be.

Instead he turned into a feisty little shit who squealed loudly when he was hungry, and offered very little else. Still, it was nice to come home to something, even if it was just a little prick who enjoyed destroying his ferns. 

Finishing off his wine, Draco wrapped a towel around his waist, and headed out to the kitchen. He heard Niles scuttling around on the terrace, before descending the fire escape. Draco had no idea where he went on his nighttime adventures, and frankly didn’t care. He always came back in the morning, just early enough to wake Draco from his wonderful slumber begging for food. 

Draco dried off and put the quills in a jar, and headed to bed himself, cursing silently that there were still at least three more days of heartache before the weekend.

\---

Wednesday started off the same. A squeal from Niles to get him up, three strips of bacon and a bit of toast to get him going, a scrub and some hair polish to get him out the door. He grabbed his bag, thankful for its light heft, and Apparated to his first destination.

There were five slips of paper in his bag. The first was a gentleman in Frogmore, who learned through a ridiculous rap that his now ex-girlfriend accepted a top-secret transfer to Greece, and would no longer be able to speak to him. (In actuality she was in Croatia with a new stud she met on holiday). 

A lady in Epping received a bundle of black roses and a expletive-filled card from her latest girlfriend. Draco had blushed profusely with the amount of crude words that spilled out of his mouth. At least he hadn’t had to sing.

Just outside of Hemel Hempstead, Draco rang the bell of a fern-covered townhouse. A woman with a baby on her hip peered through a narrow crack in the door. Draco instantly cringed. Divorces were his least favourite. Too much paperwork. Too many tears.

When she opened the door, she sent Draco a hard scowl. _Perfect._ This lady looked like she could easily take him. He hadn’t been hit, not yet, but the kick had been enough of a warning. Draco stepped back a bit before beginning his spiel. 

“Ms Kelly Martin,” he started, wiping his sweating palms on his trousers. “My name is Draco Malfoy. I’m Secondary - ”

“Kelly, eh?” the woman said, opening the door completely. Her eyes narrowed down at him, and Draco swallowed quickly. He took another step back, almost tumbling right off the step. 

The woman angrily shifted the baby from her left to her right hip, staring straight at Draco, before turning to her side and bellowing, “Kelly!” up a narrow staircase.

Draco looked around, panicking. He read the card again, definitely Kelly Martin, definitely this address, but it gave no indication on who Kelly was. He tried to calm his nerves, folding and unfolding the bit of paper in his hand while he waited for ‘Kelly’ to appear. 

He didn’t have to wait long before a young, ginger-haired girl bounded down the steps two at a time, all smiles and ribbons.

“Yes, mama?” she twirled one of her pigtails through her fingers as she approached the open door. It was such a happy contrast to her angry mother, and the baby who had just started to wail on her hip. 

“He’s here for you! What did you do now?” she shrieked, poking a long manicured fingernail into Kelly’s shoulder.

“Oh, no ma’am, Kelly’s not in trouble,” Draco jutted in. He didn’t want Kelly to be in trouble, not right before her heart was about to be broken. How could he possibly do that, after all? This girl looked no more than 13. This must be her first love. He couldn’t break her heart. Especially while her angry mother watched.

“My apologies. I must have the wrong address!” he shouted awkwardly before pulling his bag tight to his body and running back onto the pavement. He was furious, his mind quickly cataloguing all of the expletives he’d throw at Blaise when he had him in his clutches. A young girl? How could anyone be so cruel. 

It took him more than one attempt to calm himself down, focusing on all of the Quidditch World Cup champions backwards, before he could finally Apparate directly to _Amor_. Once he arrived, however, he found himself exceedingly angry again. Draco stomped into Blaise’s office, slamming down his bag into one of the vacant chairs.

“I’m done!” he yelled, throwing out his arms in disgust. “Done, I tell you!”

Blaise rolled his eyes and crossed his arms before focusing his attention on Draco. “What happened now,” he asked in a dull voice.

“Little Kelly Martin is what happened! How am I supposed to tell her that her first love, er,” he glanced down at the parchment still crumpled in his hand, “Bernard, oh Merlin what a name, no longer wants to swing with her on the playground.” He huffed, kicking the leg of a chair.

“Just like the card says, I suppose.” Blaise unfolded his arms. “She’ll get over it.”

“And what if she doesn’t? What if she spends the rest of her life alone, wondering what she could have done differently! Wondering if this Bernard was her one true love?” Draco knew he was reeling, no one that met that young stayed together. It was impossible. Young love, first loves, they never lasted. 

“You know there’s no such thing as true love.” Blaise shook his head. “There’s only the Master and the moons. My mother cannot create love, just like the Deathly Hallows can’t reverse death. She can foster it, and she can watch it bloom, she can certainly facilitate in the destruction of it, but she can’t make it.”

Draco slumped into an empty chair, crushing his satchel in the process. He no longer had a need for it. He wasn’t going on any more missions to destroy any more lives.

“Tell you what,” Blaise leaned back on his desk as he pondered Draco’s crumpled form. “Finish out today, and tomorrow we’ll find you a new position. Something more...hopeful.”

“What does that mean,” Draco asked skeptically. He’d been on this route for two years, had certainly barged into Blaise’s office on more than one occasion, whining about this breakup or that. He’d worked hard. He’d paid his dues, for sure. He was just honestly surprised Blaise finally saw it.

“Yes, Draco,” Blaise nodded confidently. “I just need you to go to the next assignment, and if you complete it successfully I’ll give you a new placement tomorrow.

“Just one more?” Draco asked. 

“Think you can do it?” Blaise held out a hand to Draco, lifting him out of his chair. “After today, your life will be changed forever.”

He smirked, pulling the strap of his bag over his head, and with a quick nod, Draco Apparated to his last stop on the breaking hearts tour, a brick two-story just south of Canary Wharf with a red door and a yellow doormat. Draco cringed at the colour combination, pulled out the final card and rang the doorbell. 

“Mr. ... _Potter_?”


	2. Communication

beautifully created by [@katie-bt](https://katie-bt.tumblr.com/)

“Malfoy, what in the bloody hell are you doing here?” Potter asked incredulously. His door was flung open, exposing the full expanse of his flat. Draco could see his walls lined with pictures of his friends, several of which he recognized. A flash of blue hair in the one closest to the door showed Potter chasing after Teddy with delight. 

He took in Potter’s home quickly; his observational skills had always been one of his best attributes. The cosy living room off to the left, full of burgundy pillows and gold shams; a door off to the right, where Draco could make out just a hint of a footboard in the pale blue bedroom. It was a modest space, not nearly as large as Draco would assume the almighty Potter would reside, yet the whole space felt exactly like him. 

His eyes caught one more glimpse, a long-stemmed sunflower on a table near the door. A card, open and resting on the flat surface. 

_My darling Harry, You are my sunlight and my lightning. Yours, Jacob._

Of course, Potter was in love with a frilly little nitwit that sent him a flower. Dead plants never seemed terribly romantic to Draco. Did the prick even know that his favourite flower was a lily, and not some disgustingly bright thing that matched his equally ugly doormat?

“I’m here because of that,” Draco pointed to the rubbish display of affection on Potter’s entry table before forcing himself to meet his eyes. 

“You’re...here to take my flower?”

“Looks like it’s already been taken,” Draco muttered under his breath before reminding himself why he was there, standing unexpectedly in Potter’s doorway. It’s not like he was jealous. Time had passed since they’d left Hogwarts, nary an owl between them. Despite everything. 

_Always start with the speech,_ he chastised himself. 

At least this was the last time he’d ever have to do this.

“I’m here,” Draco shuffled and straightened his bow tie, “as the Secondary Custodian for the Master of Love.”

“Master of Love,” Potter repeated.

“Yes, Potter. And it appears I have some bad news.”

“Not going to tell me you’re in love with me, are you Malfoy?” Potter chuckled, opening the door wider. “Why don’t you tell me this _bad news_ over a cup of tea.”

“I’d rather not,” Draco hesitated. His eyes darted to Potter’s mess of a hair, to his sharp green eyes. It’d been at least two years since they’d seen each other, two years since they both boarded the Hogwarts Express for the last time. Their Eighth year had not been as unpleasant as the ones before, no Dark Lord threatening to take everything they loved, no tournaments or trolls. Just school, and common rooms, and parties, and drinking.

And that one time Potter pressed Draco against the wall, smelling of sweat and and treacle tart. His hands had brushed up and down Draco’s sides, pulling at his hips as they grinded together, moaning into each others’ mouths in a heated kiss.

“Come on, Malfoy, it’s been _so long_ since someone’s given me bad news,” Potter said, snapping Draco out of his memories. “Practically hours. I’d rather hear it sitting down.” He turned and walked back towards the kitchen, giving Draco no choice but to follow.

The space was small, a tiny table with three chairs surrounding it, a few cabinets and a fridge on the other side. Potter Accioed a kettle and filled it with water, setting it on the stove. He motioned to Draco to take a seat and sat across from him, the table so narrow that their knees were almost touching. 

“So, out with it, Malfoy. What’s this bad news that brings you to my doorstep? And how did you know where I live?” He leaned back casually, and Draco wanted to punch him. This wasn’t a friendly visit. This was business. Draco’s business. And for once he wasn’t sorry to share the news of his arrival.

“Jacob told us,” Draco started, throwing Potter a smirk. He watched as his eyebrows raised in curiosity, and suddenly, Draco realized he didn’t quite mind breaking Potter’s heart. 

He cleared his throat and began. Of course the arsehat would make him sing a song to bloody perfect Potter. 

> _Department of Break-ups, Maladies, and Phenomenons_
> 
> _Case # 19835_
> 
> _Assignment: Break-up via song_
> 
> _Mark: Harry Potter_
> 
> _Client: Jacob Abelman_
> 
> _I don’t love you anymore, doodah, doodah_ _  
> __Life with you is such a bore all the doodah day_ _  
> __Yeah I think that you’re a prick, doodah, doodah_  
>  Looking at me makes you sick all the doodah day

There were four more lines and then a fucking chorus, but Draco couldn’t force himself to sing the awful song anymore. Surely the prick got the point. He glanced at Potter, ready to see the utter destruction on his face that he had on so many others.

Potter’s head was buried in his arms, and his shoulders were shaking. _Is he crying?_ Draco thought to himself. _Shit_. He’d made the Chosen One cry. Oh well. Shouldn’t have shacked up with a bastard like Jacob who would dump someone as amazing as Potter in a horrible song. 

But then Potter lifted his head, and Draco could see that he was laughing, silent chuckles that eventually exploded out of his mouth in a childish glee.

“Jacob sent you here to sing that bloody awful song?” Potter got out between giggles. “He hired _you_ of all people to break up with me?”

 _Of course_ Potter wouldn’t care. Why worry about Jacob when surely he could just cross the street and find another three men begging to sleep with him. Draco straightened his spine, dusted off his waistcoat, and sent Potter a menacing stare. “Not me, the Master of Love. Like I was saying earlier, I’m the Secondary -”

“Custodian, whatever that means. I just...we were barely together! We only shagged twice! I didn’t...he could have just…” He chuckled again. “An owl would have been more than enough.”

His stomach curled when he heard that. Potter _shagging_ someone else _._ Well that was enough to unsettle him for a while.

“It means,” Draco straightened his tie once again, “that I have been chosen by the Master herself to conduct the official business of Love.” _Not the only chosen one, are we Potter_ , he sneered to himself. He didn’t appreciate being mocked, especially about his profession, no matter how much he hated it. “Besides, I’m up for a promotion.”

The tea kettle hissed, and Potter stood to pull it off the range. He grabbed a couple of mugs from the cupboard and filled both halfway. 

“Well congratulations then. Still two sugars and a spot of milk?” he asked over his shoulder. Draco gave a quick hum of confirmation, and Potter handed him some steeping milky tea in a bright red mug.

They both sat in silence, sipping the warm drink. Potter relaxed again, leaning back in his chair, while Draco sat ramrod straight, tapping his fingers anxiously on the tabletop. He should leave, but he found he couldn’t. Besides, he still had some tea left in his cuppa. 

Finally, Potter spoke again.

“So you’re like an official breaker-upper.”

“As well as _Maladies and Phenomenons_ , yes.”

“A reverse cupid, then. Just shattering hearts wherever you go.” Harry grinned widely.

“I don’t have wings and bloody arrows, Potter,” Draco snarled. “It’s a very respected profession, I’ll have you know.” 

Of course Potter would think he was ridiculous. He never should have come into his flat in the first place. 

But then he caught a glimpse of Potter’s stare, his soft, curious green eyes, and he remembered what it felt like to be in that glow. 

“And your boss?” Potter asked.

“The Master of Love. Blaise’s mother, Freya.”

Potter leaned back further in his chair, and under the table their knees barely grazed each other. Draco’s breath hitched, and he felt his cheeks colour automatically. He coughed again, trying to calm his nerves, and Potter arched an eyebrow, pressing his knees harder into Draco’s.

 _Fuck._ How could just the smallest touch already be driving Draco crazy? This was Potter, the same berk he stamped on in the train, the same twat that cut him in half in the loo. 

The same prick that kissed him, all tongues and teeth and rutting until they both came in their joggers, panting in the same bursts of air. 

Draco closed his eyes and shook the thoughts out of his head. He would not let himself go down that train of thought one more time. After all, Potter had never owled after their tryst. Never told him where to find the red door with the yellow doormat. Shagged Jacob and whoever else and never looked back. 

While Draco destroyed people’s hearts day after day just to pay the bills. 

He swallowed, and forced his chin upward, before continuing. “Blaise’s mother has held the moons since she was in Hogwarts herself. Her mother held them before that, and her mother before that. I suppose Blaise will get them next, not that he needs it. Been in love with Pansy since fifth year.”

“Parkinson? Zabini? Moons?” 

“Yes, Potter, do keep up.”

“I was the Master of Death, if you remember, and I only learned about that in Sixth Year!”

“For Merlin’s sake,” Draco rolled his eyes. “How could I forget, oh powerful Master.” It had been a constant discussion in the common rooms their last year together, how some students would come back with broken pieces of wood in hopes it was pieces from the split Elder Wand.

“Let me break this down for you; it’s very simple.” Draco conjured five circles floating in the air. “Venus’ moons hold the power of love. Whoever has the moons, manipulates the love.”

“Venus doesn’t have any moons, Malfoy.”

“She did, but Mercury stole them. Didn’t you pay attention in Trelawneys?” Draco tried his best to be patient. “Compassion,” he highlighted one of the glowing orbs in blue, “Understanding, Communication, Trust and Sacrifice.” He paused as all blue circles bobbed along the narrow table. 

made by [@keyflight790](keyflight790.tumblr.com)

“Five moons.”

“Good to know you can count, Potter.” Draco said dryly. He thought there should be more, how the entirety of this huge emotion could possibly be broken down into only five elements, but that was well above his paygrade. Bloody _Attraction_ hadn’t even made the cut; wasn’t that one of the most important parts?

Like Potter’s hair. So disheveled, it constantly looked as if he was just shagged. Not a drop of potion, even though his bloody grandfather practically invented the thing. Disgusting, who would ever want to run their fingers through that raven rats nest? Certainly not him. 

“So Zabini- I mean, Blaise’s mother can make people fall in love?” Potter asked, interrupting his thoughts. Draco blinked, refocusing from that knotted disaster Potter called hair to his green eyes. The same ones that barely glanced at him those last weeks at Hogwarts. 

“She can’t force anything, she can only manipulate it.” Draco rolled his eyes. “The same way when you had the Resurrection stone, you couldn’t reverse death. You could just...see it.”

Potter nodded, as if he understood. Draco shifted in his chair, deciding if he should stay or leave, and their knees accidentally knocked together again. Potter pressed his trainer against his shoe, and he inhaled at the way heat snaked around his ankle. Yes. Draco needed to leave. Now.

“Where are the moons? They’re pretty large, if I remember correctly.” Potter asked, and this time Draco couldn’t find the capability to be anything but annoyed.

“We can shrink things with these magical sticks we call wands, Potter,” he spat. “And after the carelessness you showed to the Stone you better believe I don’t trust you enough to reveal their location. Now, if you don’t mind, I must be off.” Surely this counted as enough completion for Blaise’s requirements. He shoved his now-empty mug in Potter’s direction, but it slid a little too far and crashed to the floor, shattering into a dozen red shards. 

“Malfoy,” Potter stood, reaching out his hand to grasp Draco’s wrist, but Draco just brushed it away as he headed out the door, slamming it in his wake.


	3. Compassion

Draco awoke Friday morning with a pounding headache. Niles had kept him up half the night, breaking pots and scratching on the glass door leading to the garden, begging to get out. Draco had barely gotten a wink of sleep, and the dark circles under his eyes were doing nothing for his normally pale complexion. 

Still, he pulled on his nicest trousers, fastened his cashmere waistcoat and knotted his silk bowtie, trying to be the most presentable version of himself for his first day in a new department. 

Blaise was waiting for him at the entryway to _Amor_. He promptly showed Draco to his new office, with a see-through door and a window facing the street. Blaise had even taken the time to paint his name on the glass, the _M_ in Malfoy ending with a superfluous curl. 

“It’s _Coincidences and Meet-Cutes,_ ” Blaise explained, handing Draco a new satchel full of his morning assignments. The bag was a darker brown, and the strap fit secure around his shoulder. All in all, this promotion was starting to feel like quite the upgrade.

There was only one problem. Draco had no idea what the department entailed.

“Meat isn’t cute. It’s food,” he said, trying to bite back his sarcasm. It didn’t work.

“M-e-e-t, Draco.” Blaise sighed. “A comical misunderstanding or embarrassment that draws two strangers together. They meet, but in a cute or funny way. Hence the meet-cute.”

Draco shook his head. “So they don’t know each other?”

“Well,” Blaise thought for a moment before continuing. “Sometimes they do, I suppose. But they might not have seen each other for a while, so we arrange that they do. That’s more the Coincidence portion. An ‘Oh, hi, how are you, it’s been so long, we should have coffee,’ kind of scenario.”

Draco looked at Blaise, confused. 

“Okay, take your first assignment for example. Coffee shop, right?” Blaise pulled the folded parchment out of Draco’s brand new satchel. “Subject A get’s her coffee, and something happens so that she spills it all over Subject B.”

Draco scowled. “That sounds awful. Filthying someone else's clothes cannot be considered romantic.” 

“It’s not about the mess, Draco,” Blaise chuckled. “It’s about the communication after. They laugh, maybe Subject A helps Subject B clean it off. They bond over it; it becomes part of their story.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone dare spill liquid on my clothing.”

“Well, the moons think this is the best way to bring these two together. Just a little nudge to see if a spark ignites.” Shrugging, he handed the paper back to Draco, who tucked it into his bag. 

“Love requires sacrifice,” Blaise said as Draco walked out the door. “Maybe getting a little dirty would do you some good.”

\---

Draco arrived at the cafe just before nine. He settled into a tiny table in the back, ordered a cup of tea and waited for his mark. This time there were two marks, not just the one, and Draco read the card three times, nervous that he’d somehow fuck up the easy instructions. 

Unlike his last assignments, which contained a name, an address, and some pathetic, cowardly breakup attempt, the parchment included not just names, but pictures, and a paragraph of words.

> _Department of Coincidences and Meet-Cutes_
> 
> _Case # 143958_
> 
> _Assignment: Meet-Cute_
> 
> _Subject A: Jane Martin_
> 
> _Subject B: Robert Harrison_
> 
> _Subject A approaches the counter at 9:02am. Subject B approaches behind Subject A at 9:03am. When Subject A turns, perform Invorto Minima on the coffee cup._
> 
> _To be completed by 9:04am_

He set a Tempus, sipped his drink, and waited.

After a beat, a 20-something blonde walked into the cafe. Her white dress looked exactly like the one she was wearing in Draco’s picture, and he watched carefully as Jane went up to the counter and ordered her beverage. Not moments later, a man entered the shop. He, too, looked just like the photograph, brown hair and chiseled jaw. Draco saw Robert spot the girl in white, checking her out as he pretended to check out the menu. He must have glanced at her too long, because she quickly turned, offering him a small smile. 

This was it, the moment, the Meet-Cute Blaise had told him about. Something was supposed to happen. Anytime now. 

_Oh shit._ He was the something that was supposed to happen. 

He flicked his wand quickly, hoping he wasn’t too late, and her cup tipped, spilling the entirety of its hot contents onto his perfectly pressed clothes. _Sacrifice,_ indeed.

He might have overdone the flick, come to think of it. 

Either way, the woman was laughing while the man wiped coffee awkwardly off of his trousers. They kept staring at each other, eyes all wide, leaning towards one another. Draco could feel the chemistry clear across the room. 

It made him sick. 

They had only just met each other. Hadn’t even exchanged names, just some vague apologies and a handshake, and they were supposed to be in love? No wonder he had so many assignments in _Break-ups_ , if people were just falling over the smallest of circumstances.

The only time he had been even close to being in love, he had known the person for eight full years. And even then. Even then it was hard to fathom that love would ever be a possibility.

He pondered this throughout the rest of the day, watching two people meet in the most random of circumstances, an errant spell bringing them together at the last moment. Draco made someone drop their books in the library, and watched with wonder while his other target picked them up. A woman carrying her groceries, a gust of wind from Draco’s wand tilting her balance while another woman came to her rescue to help carry the load. A teenage boy shot off a bottle rocket, and Draco curved it so it landed in another teenager’s basket. 

By the time he met up with Blaise for drinks later at the Leaky, he had paired up over sixteen couples. 

“It’s just so animalistic,” Draco sighed. He knew he should be grateful for the new gig, and he was. Pairing people was much better than destroying them. But still, he couldn’t help but feel jaded by the whole thing.

“It’s just a spark, Draco,” Blaise countered. “A tiny flicker. We just push a little.”

“But they don’t even know each other!” 

“They will! Just because you paired them today doesn’t mean they’re instantly going to get married tomorrow! It’s just the beginning.” Blaise clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Besides, most of those sparks were platonic, not romantic.”

Draco took a drink of his Butterbeer. “What do you mean?”

“Friendship,” Blaise laughed. “You know, like you and I?”

“We don’t love each other,” Draco muttered before taking another swig.

Blaise laughed again, louder, nudging Draco in the side. “You love me, you berk. And I love you. That’s why I put up with all of your whinging.”

“I don’t -” Draco started to defend himself, but it was pointless. He was whining. And his best friend, who he supposed he did love, had gone out of his way to change his position so that he’d be just a tad happier. Despite the fact that Draco had kissed his girl ages ago. 

“Fine,” Draco acquiesced. “But we didn’t meet by spilling a drink on each other, or anything ridiculous like that.”

“No,” Blaise shrugged. “But our mothers did. Mum met yours during their first day of Hogwarts. Got sorted into the same house, and even though she was sorted first, and mum was sorted last, they still were sat right next to each other, reaching for the last crumpet in the bowl.” Blaise grinned wide. “Coincidence, huh?”

Draco thought back to memories of his mother and Blaise’s, sitting in the sun and laughing while Blaise and he chased each other around the yard on their tiny broomsticks. He wondered who had held his position then, who had left the chair open so that Freya could sit next to Narcissa, who had made sure there was only one more crumpet in the bowl. 

Could the moons be responsible for the first time he met Potter? Two young boys, coincidentally in the same dressing rooms at the same time at Madam Malkin's. Maybe if he hadn’t spouted off with his pureblood nonsense, it wouldn’t have taken eight years for them to be any semblance of friends. 

Not that it mattered now. They only spoke once in the past two years. Not much for communication. Where were the moons during all that time?

“Why do people even risk it, Blaise?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Fall in love when they have everything to lose?”

“Easy,” Blaise said. He got a far-off look in his eyes, the same one that always took hold when he thought about Pansy. “The risk is worth the reward. When someone loves you, when they trust you with their entire heart, Draco. It makes you feel invincible.”

 _Or it can make you feel like a failure._ He thought about Potter, about their kiss and how he had gone to sleep that night with a big, sappy grin on his face, the first one he could remember in Merlin knows how long. Trusting that Potter would be there in the morning, at the breakfast table, unable to wipe his own beaming smile off his lips. Just to wake up to misery. 

He shoved the thought to the back of his mind and downed the remainder of his drink. “Need some air,” he said, already stepping away from the table before he even finished the sentence. 

Yanking open the pub door, Draco welcomed the crisp, cool London air. The pavement was packed with other patrons, weaving in and out of bars and restaurants that littered the street, so Draco turned left with no real destination in mind. 

He walked slow, his mind wandering between the couple he united that morning, to the way he and Potter had united that night. 

_Spin the bottle, one too many drinks for the both of them. The damn thing spun and spun and spun, and Draco never thought it would stop. The room was spinning too, but suddenly all he could see was Potter, messed up hair and sharp green eyes. The bottle saw him too, pointing like an arrow to his muddy trainers._

_Ron had cackled, and Harry had grinned, and Blaise had nudged Draco, egging him on to the center of the room. “Go get him, dragon,” he said when Draco murmured in his ear about what a bad idea it was to snog Potter in front of all their friends. How it would ruin everything they had worked towards. But Blaise had just nudged him again. “Trust me,” he added, with a wink._

_Instead, Draco had ran into the hall, his back pressed against the cold stone, his hands on his knees. That’s how Harry had found him, mid-panic attack, sweat gathering at the nape of his neck._

_“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry had said, pulling Draco up by his shoulders. “You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to. It’s just a game.”_

_As if Draco had gone even one day since Third year without wanting to kiss Harry Potter._

_“I do,” he had mumbled, and when Harry had looked at him confused, he said it again, louder. “I want to kiss you!”_

_“Well, then do it!” Harry had laughed. He then stepped closer to Draco, so close that Draco couldn’t see anything except brown hair and green eyes and that scar, oh blast, that scar that he wanted to touch, and kiss, and lick._

And then, in an instant, Draco was snapped out of his memories, tumbling through the air into someone’s arms. His hands landed on a chiselled chest, warm beneath his palm. He felt safe, secure, surrounded by the strong grasp holding him still. He glanced up at his saviour, and gasped.

“Falling for me, are you Malfoy?” 


	4. Trust

“What the bloody hell are you doing, Potter?” Draco screeched while he steadied himself on the pavement. He scanned the ground, searching for the menacing object that must have tripped him up. Instead, he saw a familiar batch of quills and a tiny nose sniffing the pavement. 

“Niles?” Draco cried out. He reached down and picked up his Knarl, examining him from head to toe. Confirming his pet looked no worse for wear, he brushed his little head with his fingers. “What are you doing here? I know you like adventure, but this is at least four blocks from home.” He tucked Niles into his robes, sealing the pocket with a quick charm, poking little holes in the fabric so the damn thing could breathe. 

“You have a pet?” Potter asked curiously. He was still standing close, his hand still wrapped secure around Draco’s shoulder, and it tingled with warmth. _No_ , Draco thought, before shrugging Potter off of his arm. He missed the heat instantly.

Potter let go, but his hand was still outstretched, as if prepared to steady Draco should he tumble again. 

A part of Draco considered tripping, just to feel that touch on his body again. It had been so long since Potter, since anyone had touched him more than just a pat on the back or a kick to the shin. Even longer since someone looked at him the way Potter was. 

_Why was Potter looking at him that way?_ _Did he have something in his teeth?_

“Of course,” Draco scoffed, running his tongue over his teeth cautiously. He took a step backward, yearning to be farther away from Potter and his weird glances. “He’s a bit prickly at times, but generally alright.”

Potter’s mouth quirked slightly. “Sounds like someone I know.” 

“Sod off,” Draco said, running his hands down his waistcoat, smoothing out the fabric. Outside of the new bulge in his pocket, he seemed to have recovered from the spill unscathed. 

“Have a drink with me.”

“I said, sod off, Potter.” Draco turned to walk away, content to continue his aimless strolling, but a hand reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. 

Beautifully created by [@katie-bt](https://katie-bt.tumblr.com/)

“Just one drink. It’s the least you can do after dumping me yesterday.” Potter let go of his arm, and tilted his head to the right, towards a small Italian bistro with an outdoor patio. “I know how you like a good red.”

“Good is subjective. I enjoy a dry cabernet with floral undernotes.”

“Of course,” Potter smiled broadly. “I’m sure they have whatever it is you just said.”

Niles burrowed into his pocket, and Draco could hear little snores escaping from the holes. It seemed his nightly adventures had tuckered him out. But Draco wasn’t nearly as tired. In fact, his blood was pulsing, the adrenaline from the fall making his heart pitter-patter. And if Potter was buying, he may as well enjoy himself.

Draco followed him to a small table, and rattled off his favourite bottle to the server, a french label he used to drink at the Manor before everything went to hell. 

“How do you do it?” Potter asked, tapping his fingers on the table. Draco thought he looked nervous, but he couldn’t quite grasp why. Maybe he was concerned someone would see them, out in the open like this. 

“Do what,” he asked, put off. If Potter was concerned, he shouldn’t have chosen this place, smack dab in the middle of Diagon where any number of witches and wizards could walk by. 

“Break up with people.”

“It’s a job,” he answered snidely. “Some of us have to work for a living.”

“I work,” Potter said. “I run several non-profits, and I teach a youth Quidditch team-”

“Yes, yes, Saviour Potter. I’m fully aware of the incredible charity you have bestowed upon us mere wixen.”

“Keeping tabs on me, Malfoy?”

Draco rolled his eyes. It’s not as if every paper wasn’t covered with Harry Potter _this_ , and the Chosen One _that_. He did tend to read each article, however. Just to stay informed. 

“Well? Are you heartbroken?” he smirked just as the server arrived with their glasses. He knew the answer already. Why waste your time being heartbroken when men were falling at your feet. 

“Please,” Potter laughed. “Jacob was barely a fling.”

 _Just like me,_ Draco thought miserably to himself. Does the great Harry Potter just not feel anything? Remorse, sadness, heartbreak? Draco had felt heartbreak every day for the past two years, and he hadn’t even been in a relationship. And yet, perfect Potter could just shrug it off as if it were nothing to give your heart to someone and have them stomp on it in return. 

“What about before? With the girl Weasel?” He knew he was reaching. They had been over before Eighth year, before their moment against the wall. 

Potter grinned. “Ginny? I see her nearly every Sunday. I love her, and her husband, Neville.”

Draco had heard about that. The moons hadn’t brought them together, but the war had. 

“And what about me?” He couldn’t help himself. For a moment he wondered if Potter even remembered their kiss at all. It had been so brief, alcohol-infused and over before either could even think. The next morning, Potter had sat at his table, avoiding Draco’s stare, and two weeks later they were on the train back to Hogwarts, never to see each other again. Until now. Twice in the same number of days. Just a coincidence. 

The wine arrived, and Potter picked up his glass before it even touched the table. 

“Now that,” Potter took a big swig of wine before looking into Draco’s eyes, “is something I regret every day.”

Of course. Regret. The great Harry Potter would regret snogging a Death Eater in a deserted hallway. He swiveled his wine in his glass before breathing in the aroma and taking a sip.

“Right.” He murmured, trying to push back the feeling of his heart being stomped on all over again. He swirled the red in his glass, focusing on the way it twisted around instead of the threat of tears he was blinking away.

“So your heart is fully intact?” Draco turned his brief sadness to anger. “Bully for you.” he snarled. Niles let out a little chirp from his pocket, and he patted the fabric absently.

Potter huffed. “If you mean severed, and patched back together, then sure.” He ran a hand through his raggedy hair, ruffing it up even more than usual. “Oh! Did you get that promotion?” 

Draco nodded. “Now I traipse around the city spilling coffee on people and hoping they fall in love.”

Potter choked a bit on his wine. “I’m sorry, what?”

“See!” Draco flung out his hand. “It’s ridiculous! But apparently, people need these little nudges to ‘spark something’. Or that’s what Blaise said.” 

“How does hot coffee do that.”

“I guess it gets them talking.” Draco shook his head. “Communication and Sacrifice.”

“Oh, yes, your moons.”

“They’re not _my_ moons, Potter.” He rolled his eyes. “They’re the Master of Love’s.”

“And what about you? Anyone spilling coffee in your lap?”

Draco snorted. “I’ve chosen to be single the past couple of years.” 

“No one’s tickled your fancy?” Potter raised his eyebrows. 

“No one’s tickled anything, not that it’s any of your business. I doubt you could understand.” Draco pat his pocket absently, finding comfort in the way his pocket ebbed in and out from his tiny breaths. 

“Try me.”

“Well,” Draco took a sip of wine. “Unlike your precious scar that is probably stronger than Amortentia, my own scars have quite the opposite effect.”

“You mean your Dark Mark,” Potter’s eyes darted to Draco’s forearm. 

“Oh, so you do have some brain cells left in that thick skull of yours,” Draco spat. “And yes, the Dark Mark doesn’t help, but neither do the precious scars you left behind as well.”

Potter raised his eyebrows. “What are you talking about, Malfoy?”

“I’m talking about your little curse in the loo.” Draco raised his finger to the top of his left shoulder. “Where you slashed my heart? They start here,” he said, dragging his hand across his chest until he reached his right nipple, and then dragged downward towards his navel. “And they end here.”

Green eyes watched his hand with growing horror. “I - I didn’t think they scarred. I thought Snape got to you in time.” 

“Like you got to Snape in time?” Draco grumbled. “You were the last one to see my godfather alive. You could have saved him, you could have bloody helped.”

“It was too late,” Potter shook his head as if trying to rid his mind of the image of Snape, bleeding on the floor. “I would have, if I could.”

“You hated him.” Draco clenched his fists, trying to control his breathing. “You hated him, and you hated me.”

“I didn’t.” Potter spat. His hands fisted. “I don’t!”

Draco lifted his glass, swallowing the remaining contents in one gulp. “Then why did you ignore me, hmm?” Potter just stared back, his chest heaving. “Every day after we….,” he closed his eyes, “kissed, or whatever we did, you pretended like I didn’t exist!”

“Let me explain.” Potter extended his hand across the table, his fingertips brushing Draco’s own. Draco twisted his arm, yanking out of Potters grasp. 

“You had two years to explain, Potter.” He rose out of his seat, straightening his waistcoat once more. “Now if you’ll please excuse me, I must be going.”

“Mal-Draco, don’t go, just-”

“Goodbye, Potter. Thank you for the drink.” Draco didn’t look back, just rushed to the nearest Apparition point and twisted he and Niles away.


	5. Sacrifice

Draco didn’t sleep well. Niles was in a strop about being shoved in a dark pocket, and insisted on throwing quills in Draco’s direction for the entirety of the night. He awoke with no less than 10 quills buried in his hair and three pinched in his ear. 

He made sure to give his pet a couple more eel tentacles for his breakfast, and by the time he finished his first cup of coffee, the little Knarl was back to digging in various pots, happily throwing dirt onto his previously clean floor.

 _Doesn’t matter,_ Draco told himself as he walked into the living room and settled on the couch. It was finally the weekend, and he had nothing to do but mope on his couch and listen to Niles wreck a few more plants.

Just as he was settling in to pillows and blankets, the fire in his Floo erupted.

“Draco?”

“Potter?” Draco said back as the speckled git poked his head out of the grate. “How on earth did you get my Floo number?”

Potter grinned. “I have my ways. Can I come through?”

“Er…” Draco looked around the flat, suddenly regretting his decision to not put on joggers and clean the dirty mess in his kitchen. “Five minutes, alright?”

Potter grinned again, and disappeared back through the flames.

In an instant, Draco launched himself off the couch, flinging his wand this way and that to tidy the space. He rushed to his room and tugged on a pair of crisp trousers and a clean shirt, and quickly spelled his hair into its normally sleek composure. 

The fire roared again, and Potter’s frame crawled out of the flames. He scanned Draco’s living room, taking in the minimal decor, the small green couch shoved against a wall, a shelf in the corner overflowing with boxes and books and artifacts, the only things of his parents he was allowed to keep.

“Nice flat,” he said, making himself comfortable on the sofa. 

Draco raised his eyebrows. It was barely anything compared to where he grew up. But it was his, all his. “Tea?” he asked hesitantly, avoiding the real question on the tip of his tongue. 

_Why are you here?_

“Please,” Harry responded, spreading his arm across the back of the sofa, making himself at home.

Draco scuttled to the kitchen and steamed two mugs with the tip of his wand, watching as the clear water turned into a rich amber. 

By the time he returned to the living room, Potter had pulled a blanket over his lap; to Draco’s surprise, he had a tiny little bundle in his arms.

“Niles?” Draco said, bewildered. The Knarl was nestled into Potter’s lap, and Potter was bloody _petting_ him. 

“Such a cuddly little thing, isn’t he?” Potter asked, not taking his eyes off of Draco’s prickly pet.

“Never,” Draco shook his head. “He’s never like that.” He placed the cups on the tiny table and settled next to Potter on the sofa, staring incredulously at his lap and the bundle of softness that lay there. As if on cue, Niles stuck out his long pink tongue and lapped lovingly at the pads of Potter’s fingers.

“I think he likes me,” Potter chuckled. 

“You get kisses while the only thing I get are quills in my hair.”

Potter chuckled again, and Niles nudged his palm, asking for more pats. “Well, I guess we all show our love in different ways.” 

Draco scowled at the mound in Potter’s lap who had never shown him very much affection at all. 

“Did I ever tell you about my mother?” Harry asked.

“Snape said you have her eyes.” Draco had heard him tell his father that, during the summer after First. He’d thought it was funny, a boy having girl’s eyes. 

“They were friends. Did you know?” Harry asked, swallowing tightly. Draco shook his head quickly. He knew Snape grew up in Spinner’s End but knew very little else. With a quick wave of his hand he urged Potter to continue.

“She wasn’t supposed to die that night. Snape had begged Voldemort to spare her, but he killed her anyway. She gave her life to save me.”

Draco had heard that, rumours after the war about Potter’s mother and the sacrifice she made. He had often wondered if his mother would have done the same, but it was too late to ask her. 

“Love is powerful like that.” Harry continued, his voice somber. “It can build you up, make you strong, give you a reason to breathe, to fight, to keep going.” 

“It can also destroy you,” Draco said. His mind filled with an empty bed surrounded by two nightstands. A tear gathered in the corner of his eye and he whisked it away quickly.

“Maybe,” Harry shrugged. “When my godfather died, I wasn’t sure how I could move on. He was the one bit of family I had, and in a blink he disappeared.”

Just like his own Godfather. Severus had looked so fearful that last day, clapping out of existence never to be seen by Draco again. How many questions he still wanted to ask, how many things he still wanted to know. 

“But he’s still with me.”

“Until you dropped that Stone,” Draco said haughtily. Potter was so selfish sometimes. He wasn’t the only one who craved to see his loved ones that had passed. And he just threw it all away in the blink of an eye. What he would say if he had one more chance.

“Even without the Stone,” Harry said softly. “I can still feel him sometimes. Here.” Harry put a hand over his heart. “Same with my dad. Same with my mum.”

He wanted to roll his eyes, scoff, smirk. Instead, Draco’s hand crawled over his own heart, and he closed his eyes. Maybe he could feel those that he’d lost, if he just let himself. 

Harry took a sip of his tea. “He was so confident, Sirius. I wish he had taught me that before he died.”

“You’re a bloody Gryffindor, you breathe confidence.” Draco knew he was being mean, snarky, prickly, but he didn’t care. “Tell me, Potter, why are you sitting on my sofa, and who gave you the right to befriend my pet?”

“He crawled into my lap.” Potter pat the top of Nile’s head and he burrowed further into the blanket. “And I’m a bloody coward! I couldn’t even look at you after what I’d done.”

“You looked plenty happy after you slashed me, Potter.” Draco’s hand returned to his heart, focusing on the raised edges of his scar. “You and that girlfriend of yours couldn’t stop humping all around the castle. Barely even got a detention, even though you almost killed me.”

“Not the loo, although I am sorry about that. I meant the kiss.” 

“We were drunk.” Draco sighed, picking up his teacup. The tea slid down his throat with a bitter heat. 

“I wasn’t drunk,” Potter mumbled.

“Yes you were.” Draco remembered; they were all passing around Ogdens, taking swig after swig until they could barely stand.

“I wasn’t drunk!” Potter repeated, but this time it was forceful, his green eyes boring into Draco’s. “You were, and you were hyperventilating and I chased you, and, _oh fuck,_ Draco I took advantage of you. I pushed you up against that wall, and I kissed you and I...I didn’t give you a chance to say no.” He buried his face in his hands, and Niles chirped soothingly from his lap. 

Draco couldn’t help it. His arms wrapped around Potter’s shoulder, his thumb running soothingly up and down the back of his neck. It was something his mother used to do whenever Draco was upset. She’d run a hand through his hair, rub circles into his skin, hold him close until he finally drifted off to sleep.

“I was so ashamed of what I had done. So I just avoided you,” Potter murmured, and Draco could hear the tears he choked back.

Draco shifted, pressing his thigh against Potter’s. His hand continued drawing circles, and he leaned into the heat of their connected bodies. 

“Until I showed up on your doorstep.”

Potter laughed a little then. “What a coincidence you were sent to dump me.”

 _Coincidence._ Were there such things as coincidences? Or was it all just to get them to this point, on this couch?

He wanted to cup Potter’s face in his hands, look into his eyes. Tell him that it wouldn’t have mattered if he were drunk, or sober, or on the brink of life or death, that he wouldn’t have said no. That he had wanted to kiss Harry for so long. That sometimes it hurt how much he wanted to do exactly what they had done, that he wouldn’t change it for the world.

But he couldn’t.

Love might have saved Potter, but it couldn’t save everyone. It didn’t save his parents. It didn’t save Severus, or Sirius, or Lily. It didn’t save Dumbledore, or Dobby, or Fred, or Cedric. So why would it be any different for Draco.

It wasn’t worth the risk. 

“I think you need to go.”

“Draco, wait,” Potter said, panicked. He tipped forward, so close that Draco could see tiny droplets of tears on the black curve of his eyelashes. It would only take the slightest tilt for their lips to touch, and Draco wanted to just lean in and feel that rush again. 

Instead he shook his head.

“You need to leave.”

Potter hesitated, then nodded softly. He picked up Niles, who had fallen asleep in his lap, and placed him gently on a pillow, soothing his quills with the back of his hand. 

He walked to the Floo, giving Draco a small smile over his shoulder before crawling through the grate and disappearing into the flames. 

\---

Draco spent the rest of the day moping around his flat. Niles wouldn’t even look at him, angry he sent Potter’s comfortable lap away, and made it his mission to break more and more pots as the afternoon carried on.

“Would you cut out that racket!” Draco screamed when the fifth pot fell to the floor. He hadn’t even wandered into the kitchen since Potter left, and could only imagine the copious amounts of dirt and dead plants that now resided there. 

“Bad time?” Blaise poked his head through the Floo. Draco hadn’t even heard the flames ignite over the sound of breaking ceramic. 

“No more than usual,” Draco shrugged. He haphazardly picked up his wand and placed a random _Repairo_ , wondering if anything was salvageable. “Just Niles punishing me for sending someone away this morning.”

“Oh?” Blaise asked curiously. “I’m surprised you let Potter stay the whole night.”

Draco scoffed. “He didn’t spend the night, just barged in for tea.” He paused, then sat up straight on the couch. “Wait, how did you know it was Potter?” 

“Ehh,” Blaise stalled. “I saw you last night, drinking wine.” 

“You were heading home to Pansy when I left you. That’s in the opposite direction.” Draco stood, folding his arms across his chest. “Were you spying on me, Zabini?”

Blaise shook his head.

“Why were you there then?”

He scowled, before fishing in his pocket. Blaise pulled out a small bit of parchment, and handed it over to Draco. “Don’t tell my mum I showed you this.”

Draco unfolded the paper, and furrowed his eyebrows at the black ink.

> _Department of Problematic, Challenging and Crucial Relationships_
> 
> _Case # 398_
> 
> _Assignment: Challenge_
> 
> _Subject A: Draco Malfoy_
> 
> _Subject B: Harry Potter_
> 
> _Subject A approaching the direction of Subject B, but like before, Subject A can’t get his own head out of his arse to see what’s right in front of him. Diversion required, preferably rock, but feel free to get creative._
> 
> _To be completed by 10:12pm_

“It was you?” Draco asked. “Niles, and me falling into Potter, that was all you?”

“Hey, your Knarl was more than willing to help.” Blaise chuckled. “Your case has been one of the hardest ones the departments ever seen. I think there’s been at least three agents assigned to it at any given time, but you gits just keep evading it. I thought I had hit success during Eighth, with that bottle game. Once I saw you both the next morning, I knew the mission had failed yet again.” 

Draco’s heart was racing as he stared at the slip, adorned with the Master of Love seal. His name, Potter’s name. Together.

“So we’re,” he was trying to process the feelings scrambling around in his head. Too many times he and Potter had been shoved together. Madame Malkins, the duel in Second, that time in the loo where he thought he might just end everything, Potter showed up. Cut him. Saved him from himself, from his own thoughts and demons.

Draco had been ready, that day. He delivered the necklace, failed once again. He knew his parents lives were at risk because of his fuck-ups. He was ready to end it all. 

It would have been easy, too. Just a slash across his wrists and it all would drift away, the failure, the horror of what he had done and what he had become.

Instead Potter showed up and slashed his chest instead. And he survived. They both had.

Draco crumbled up the piece of paper. “The bottle worked. Potter and I… but the next morning he was so cold.” 

“Oh!” A smile spread over Blaise’s face. “Small success! My track record just shot back up to 95%! You both have been upsetting my average, you know.”

Huffing, Draco pinged Blaise with the wad of parchment. “So sorry my love life has decreased your stats, Zabini.”

Blaise waved his hand dismissively. “Love is hard. One of the hardest things you’ll ever do.”

“Please.” Draco sat back down on the couch, and Blaise took the opposite end, crossing his long leg over his thigh. “You’re hopelessly in love. How can that be difficult?”

“I’m in love with Pansy Parkinson,” Blaise said, a small smirk on his face. “You’ve met her, right? She’s gorgeous, smart, intuitive. She can run laps around me, I don’t deserve her at all. And sometimes, she drives me crazy.”

Draco laughed, thinking back to his long friendship with the brunette. “She has that ability, yes.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Blaise continued, “I love her so much, but we definitely have our fights. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. If at the end of the night, she’s in my arms, everything is worth it.”

“And what if it’s too late?” Draco said, staring at the paper, balled and discarded on the floor. “What if we’ve already lost?”

“Then what do you have to lose?”

\---

Monday morning, Draco pulled his satchel over his shoulder and set off to his first assignment. Another coincidental meetup at the same coffee shop he had visited last week. He thought that the couple might be back, needing another push to light the spark. 

But when he sat at the table in the back and unrolled the parchment, Draco gasped. Staring back at him was a picture of a man, raven hair and a jagged scar. The same man he sat across from just the night before.

And in the next picture, blond hair, grey eyes. He stared back at the picture of himself.

He cursed as he read the paragraph below. An extra scribble had been added to the bottom, and Draco could easily recognize it as Blaise’s messy scroll.

_Get a little dirty. You only have everything to lose._

Their second chance. Or maybe it was their tenth.

He approached the counter, waiting anxiously until the Tempus showed the right time, and ordered a coffee. With ice. Disgusting, but necessary.

Right on cue.

“Draco?”

He turned, faced Potter, and poured the entire cup of coffee all over himself. 


	6. Love

Potter stood, stunned as the black liquid dripped down Draco’s hair, soaked his shirt and his waistcoat, and puddled around his loafers on the tiled floor.

“What was that?” he asked, his eyes wide and his lips curled in a confused grin.

Draco’s hand trembled as he passed Potter the slip of paper, now covered with little brown spots of coffee.

> _Department of Coincidences and Meet-Cutes_
> 
> _Case # 143958_
> 
> _Assignment: Coincidence_
> 
> _Subject A: Draco Malfoy_
> 
> _Subject B: Harry Potter_
> 
> _Subject A approaches the counter at 9:28am. Subject B approaches behind Subject A at 9:28am. Subject A to stop being a fucking prick and allow love to finally chisel away at his cold, empty heart._
> 
> _To be completed by 9:30am_

Potter stared at the paper, his smile growing wider, as the coffee seeped its way through Draco’s clothes.

“I wouldn’t have said no, that night in the corridor.” Draco started, before licking his lips and tasting the bitter black notes of the cold coffee. “Even if I wasn’t drunk.” 

Shaking his head, Potter’s eyes averted to the floor, where a small puddle of coffee was forming. “You don’t know that,” he mumbled.

Draco shook his head, and placed his fingers under Potter’s chin, lifting his head until they were looking into each others eyes. “I’d been wanting to do that for years. Touch you. Kiss you.”

“Then do it.”

Draco took a breath, closed his eyes, and leaned in.

Their lips touched, tentatively, soft, and Draco thought he could melt right into it. He might have, if it wasn’t for the damn barista who coughed, loudly.

“Sirs, we’re going to need you to move so we can clean up this mess.” The man behind the counter shot Draco a dirty look, having every right to be angry after the blatant coffee spill Draco just caused.

“Oh, right,” Draco blushed and stepped out of the way as someone with a mop reached the growing puddle of coffee. Before he could move too far, Potter’s hand reached for his, and this time, _this time_ , Draco let him take it, let him intertwine his fingers with Draco’s own. How good it felt to finally hold Potter’s hand as he led them out of the coffee shop and into the bustling streets. 

Potter pulled Draco close, their joined hands pulled tight to his chest, his other arm wrapped securely around Draco’s waist. 

“I promise I won’t fuck it up this time,” Potter whispered into Draco’s ear. “Now what do you say we go back to yours, and get you all cleaned up?”

That was all the warning he got before Potter Apparated them to the front stoop of Draco’s flat. They teetered awkwardly on the tiny front step as Potter grasped for the handle.

There was no knocking at his door, no bad news, and no pithy break-up poem. Instead, Potter was pushing himself into Draco’s flat and, Merlin, into Draco’s heart. 

The second they crossed the threshold, Potter pressed Draco up against the wall, pressing his chest into Draco’s coffee-stained waistcoat. His mouth found the hollow of Draco’s throat and Potter began sucking, licking, and drawing the drops of coffee from Draco’s skin.

It was like that first time, where all he could see, all he could smell and feel was Potter, and Draco pressed back into the man he had loved so long ago. It felt so good, Potter against him, his hands on his hips, his mouth on his throat. He didn’t want it to stop, but he also couldn’t breathe. What if it ended just like last time too? What if Potter kissed him, and fucked him, and disappeared again? Draco didn’t think his heart could take it.

“Thought I was going to shower,” Draco offered a lame attempt to escape as Potter continued to trace kisses up and down Draco’s neck, before drawing his lips against the base of Draco’s dripping hair. He could feel the heat of Potter’s chest through his coffee-soaked shirt, and his heart pounded in return.

“I said we’d clean you up,” Potter whispered into his ear. “I didn’t say how.” 

Draco arched his back, pressing himself more into Potter as the drops of caffeine were licked from his skin. “Potter,” he started to protest, even though his body clearly had other intentions.

“Malfoy,” Potter growled into his neck, before sending a trail of nibbling lovebites down his collarbone.

“We-” Draco started, his mind racing. “I-” 

Potter exhaled into his neck before adjusting, pressing their foreheads together. “We’ll go as slow as you want. This isn’t just,” he swallowed tightly. “This isn’t just a fling, Draco. I wanted this, _you_ , and now that we’re here, I told you. I’m not going to fuck it up.”

Draco stared earnestly into Potter’s eyes, at his worried smile. He knew if they kept going, even one more kiss, Draco wouldn’t be able to pull himself out of this. 

He’d fall. 

He’d drown.

He’d be sacrificing the thick chains around his heart, the ones that protected him from pain. They also held him back from pleasure, from emotion, from love. He had never trusted anyone enough to expose himself like that, but if he could trust anyone, he could trust Harry.

Harry, who told him all about the power of love. Harry, who was loyal, and true, and brave, and strong. Harry, who was currently whispering the sweetest things into Draco’s ear.

_As slow as you want, Draco. I want to be yours. For as long as you’ll have me._

So Draco closed his eyes, and took the plunge.

He captured Harry’s mouth with his own, drawing them into a passionate kiss that left Draco feeling fuzzy and warm. It was as if all the oxygen in the room survived in their kiss, and their shared breath, their mouths and their tongues were the only thing keeping them alive.

Draco’s hands found Harry’s shirt, yanking at the fabric until it released from his trousers. He pulled upward, and their kiss broke for an instant while the cotton passed between their mouths. His skin felt hot like the sun, and Draco wanted to lie in it, burning away all of the cold he had surrounded himself with the past years.

This is love, he thought. Warm and fuzzy, and a bit like dying. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Harry whispered, dragging his lips across Draco’s own. He could feel where his skin was raw already from Harry’s stubble, his collarbone, his jaw. He wanted to feel more; he wanted to feel it everywhere. 

“Me too,” he said, tilting his head back so he could see Harry’s eyes. They flickered with passion before Harry pulled him into another breathtaking kiss.

His hands went instantly to the buttons on Draco’s waistcoat, pulling each one out with ease. Harry carefully dragged the fabric down Draco’s arms, peeling it away. One more layer, one more wall, and how easy it was to let it go. 

Harry’s hands grappled at his waist, pulling up the shirt he wore like armor during the day. It felt amazing, to have firm hands, Harry’s hands, hold him there as he nibbled down his throat. Draco groaned, low in his chest, in response to finally having Harry’s skin pressed against his own after all these years.

“This okay?” Harry whispered into their joined lips, his eyes open and warm as he looked at Draco, his thumbs flicking Draco’s pert peaks as he waited for an answer. 

Every touch from Harry was pure heat, like he was going to burn and be reborn, a phoenix discovering the world anew. He wanted this, he wanted more, he wanted Harry in every possible way he could imagine. 

“Yes, gods, please,” he keened, rolling his hips so his hardened length dragged across Harry’s trousers. Draco was stifling, there was still too much fabric between them. “Too many clothes.”

Harry responded, his hands ripping at the threads of Draco’s shirt, tearing the buttons out of their threading, sending tortoiseshell all across the floor. Draco panted into Harry’s mouth as his hands explored his bare chest, teasing his nipples until they pebbled with excitement. 

He gave him a quick wink before grabbing his hand and leading Draco to the sofa. Draco took his wand out of his pocket and flicked it forward, igniting an array of candles, giving his living room a cosy glow.

“Never would have thought you’d be romantic, Draco Malfoy,” Harry murmured, pulling him close and nuzzling at his cheek

“Too much?” Draco asked. He worried his bottom lip. It felt so right, but it had felt so right before, the last time. And that had only ended in disaster.

Harry shook his head. “It’s almost perfect.” He lifted his wand, sending out a stream of red rose petals over the worn sofa cushions. The petals dusted down to the floor near their feet, glimmering softly in the candlelight. He sat down, pulling Draco into his lap, before Vanishing the remainder of their clothing.

Their mouths found each other again, all teeth and tongues and lips as they kissed, long and passionate. He leaned into it, his thighs spread wide across Harry’s own, stripped, vulnerable. He rutted into Harry’s lap, moaning loudly when their cocks touched, heat pouring into him.

His hands clung to Harry’s bare sides as he rolled his hips, pleasure shooting up his spine every time they slid together in unison. It felt incredible, Harry’s hands splayed across his back and his own hands gripping on the only anchor keeping him afloat.

Harry’s hands dipped lower. Draco yelped, squirming a little when his fingers trailed down his cleft, the pad of his finger loosely tracing Draco’s hole.

It was like last time, Potter and he rutting as they clung to each other, desperate for that sense of release, but it was also so different. Draco wasn’t pressed against a wall, held by Potter’s force and need. He was free. Free to retreat, to disappear, to cast Potter aside and pretend nothing ever happened between them.

But with each thrust of his hips, Draco was choosing to do this. He was making the secure decision to feel Harry beneath him, to look into his eyes, to hear the way his heart was pounding in his chest. 

He wanted this. He wanted Harry.

Draco pressed down, melting into Harry’s chest, crooning when Harry’s broad hand wrapped both their needy cocks together in a secure embrace.

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry cried as Draco continued to frot against him. He keened loudly when Harry’s finger dipped tantalizingly into his hole, teasing him, encouraging his movements with his embrace. 

“Yes, gods, yes,” Draco said, grinding into Harry, chasing his pleasure in Harry’s hand.

Their bodies moved together, and Draco kissed Harry until the oxygen rushed out of his lungs, only to be replaced with Harry’s own heartbeat. He felt the smallest nudge, a touch in a place no other had been allowed, and instead of stiffening, pushing off of Harry, Draco pressed against it, wanting more, wanting it all.

He came, the rush of his orgasm overcoming his body as he pulsed hot, white strips of come into Harry’s hand. His head dropped until he was panting into Harry’s shoulder as Harry continued to pull and twist at his length until the trembling subsided.

“Oh, fuck, Draco,” Harry gasped, his mouth barely a hair away from Draco’s own. Draco’s eyes opened wide as he watched Harry come undone, his own orgasm joining the remains of Draco’s in his strong hand.

Panting, Harry pulled Draco into his arms, casting a quick wandless cleansing charm that gave Draco both a sense of arousal as well as a sense of regret. He wanted to feel Harry on him for just a bit longer, in case it all drifted away as quickly as a half-cast charm. 

But as soon as they were clean, Harry pulled Draco even closer, positioning him so that they were lying side by side on the small sofa, curled in each others arms. 

Draco could hardly believe this was happening. That the shadows were playing tricks. That this gorgeous man below him was being so gentle and kind, despite the fact that they used to fight, and yell and hex. That Harry could cradle him in his arms as if he were some priceless possession, something that might break.

And what if he did? What if this was all a dream, and he woke up with tears in his eyes and a hole in his heart? What if Harry decided tomorrow that this was all too much, that the Mark and the history and the essence of Draco was just all too much? What if he left, and took Draco’s entire heart with him? Nothing left behind but some crude words and a cavity in his chest.

The moons couldn’t bring him back, the same way the Stone couldn’t bring Harry’s parents back. They could only remind him what was and what could have been.

He tried to calm his breathing, tried to focus on Harry’s soft kisses on his neck, his hands on his back. What if this was it, the only time he would feel this? He wanted to remember everything, or forget everything. If you don’t love, you can’t be heartbroken. And if you don’t love, can you really live?

Draco gasped, unable to steady his nerves. His body went stiff, and his eyes welled embarrassingly. He wiped the tears away, hoping for all of Camelot that Harry hadn’t noticed. It was too late. Harry stared at him with concern, absently chewing the inside of his mouth.

“Was that okay?” he asked, his hands retreating from Draco’s sides.

“Yes,” Draco said adamantly.

Harry grinned, wide and sparkling and warm. “Why don’t I cook you some dinner, yeah?”

Draco nodded as Harry bit his bottom lip. He wanted to suck it between his teeth. He wanted to kiss him, to feel Harry’s arms wrapped around his waist as he pulled Draco close, but he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

“That’d be great,” Malfoy said quietly. His heart was racing so fast in his chest, and his forehead began to break out in sweats. He felt stifled, unable to breathe. As soon as Harry stepped away, he took in gulpfulls of air, relieved, but also missing the loss of his presence at the same time.

Their clothes returned in a neat pile near the couch, and Draco bashfully pulled them on. It felt like wrapping his armor back around his skin, but instead of thick steel, it was thin cotton, penetrable, soft.

He sat down at the kitchen table and watched Harry whirl around his kitchen, Accioing pans and knives and a spatula Draco had never quite figured out how to use. Fruits and meats came flying out of his refrigerator and pantry, and Draco couldn’t help but smile when a frying pan filled with eel tentacles for his own pets dinner. Niles was already on the countertop, sniffing the air with delight.

“I think my Knarl likes you.”

Harry leaned over and scratched Niles’ chin. “I love him too, yes I do,” he cooed at the normally bristled animal. 

“He hates me.” Draco said it with an air of disregard, even though he’d put up with the blasted Knarl for the past two years with barely a hint of affection. “Of course he’d take to you.”

“I have practice dealing with prickly gits. They tend to fall for me, remember?” Harry glanced over his shoulder and gave Draco a wink. “Now don’t just sit there, come help me peel some potatoes.”

\---

Dinner was delicious. Harry had whipped up a beef and potato curry, and while Draco had never had such cuisine, he was already in love with the flavour and level of spices. After the dishes were charmed to clean in the sink, Harry took Draco’s hand and led them over to Draco’s couch. He sat, pulling Draco close to his hip and tugged a blanket over them both, his hand further intertwining with Draco’s own. 

Draco leaned into Harry, placing his hand on Harry’s chest, breathing in his familiar but somehow forgotten scent. Focusing on the small rises and falls of Harry’s breathing, Draco began to relax. He snuggled in deeper, as if the closer he got to Harry, the less likely he could disappear. 

“I just don’t know how to do this,” he said, more to himself than the man holding him in his arms.

“Do what?” Harry’s voice was soothing as his hands drew little shapes up and down Draco’s arm.

“Be in...a relationship.” His voice trembled as he tried to rush past the word that was actually on his tongue. Even so, he wished the sentiment would disappear as soon as he said them. But it also felt like a weight was lifted off his chest, like he was exposed and raw and light.

Harry’s fingers stilled, his thumb pressed against Draco’s wrist. “It’s a bit like flying, I suppose,” he said, as his thumb began its grazing motion once again. “That pit in your stomach when you’re rushing up to the sky, trusting in your magic and your broom, that it’ll hold, that it’ll keep you safe.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Harry breathed, and Draco could feel his chest ebb and flow with each draw of air. “When I fell, that time in Third year, I thought that was it. I heard my mother was screaming in my ear, and I felt so cold, like I had nothing else to live for.”

Draco leaned back, his face now parallel with Harry’s, and his breath caught when he saw the sadness, the fear across Harry’s normally cheerful face. Just like Harry had looked that day. His mind rushed to that moment when he saw Harry fall from the sky. He regretted now how much he had teased Potter over it, how cruel it must have been to hear your mother’s dying words brandished into your ear by such a horrid creature. 

“But,” he continued, “Dumbledore caught me. My friends caught me. Even you caught me.”

“Me? How?” 

“Everyone was so worried, doting on me and smothering me with concern, but not you.” He chuckled, and Draco could feel the vibrations along his chest. “You just kept treating me the same, this angry boy that just couldn’t stand me. And honestly, Draco, it helped.”

“I was a pissant.” Draco shook his head in disdain. There was too much history here, how would they ever make it work?

“You were my pissant, though,” Harry kissed his forehead, and then his nose. “You kept me strong. Even after Sirius died, I thought I would never recover.” His chest heaved and Draco heard Harry sniffle. “Yet, there you were. Breaking my nose in and forcing me to focus on something else.”

“Not my fault you were spying on me!”

“You were up to something!” Harry chuckled, and the waves ran through his chest, making Draco’s heart soar. “I had to know what it was!”

Draco laughed in return. At the time he had hated how much Potter showed up, always behind a door or a wall, watching him. How after Eighth year he would have given anything for Harry to watch him like that again. And now he was here, snuggled on his couch, hot and warm and holding Draco like he was the most precious thing. 

“I loved him too,” Harry said, after their joined laughter subsided. He tucked his head down so their foreheads pressed together. “I lost Sirius. And it hurts every day. But Draco,” he paused until Draco looked up, until their eyes connected, “I’m so glad I knew him. I wouldn’t trade my time with him for all of the pain in the world.”

“My parents are dead,” Draco blurted out, and suddenly the tears began to flow. “I loved them, and they’re gone.” 

Harry pulled Draco even tighter into his chest. “I heard. At least they were together.” 

Draco thought about the owl, right after the war. How they were found in their bed, two empty potion bottles on the nightstand. How the Ministry took the Manor, left him penniless and orphaned all in one swoop. He hadn’t believed that first owl, the one stating that his parents had been found, poisoned by their own demise, holding each other in their marital bed. He had denied, and cried, and drank away his feelings for the first few months. Until Blaise found him; until Blaise offered him a job, and a home, and a future.

“They loved you, you know?” Harry’s voice was shaky as he continued. “Your mother, she risked her life just to make sure you were okay.”

“What are you talking about.” Draco pulled himself off of Harry’s chest to stare deep into his emerald green. 

Harry swallowed, then continued. “That day, when I...well when I died. Your mother came to me, to make sure I had passed.”

“But you hadn’t.”

“No. I was alive. She knew, too. She could feel me breathing.” Harry shifted his hand to Draco’s cheek. “She touched me here, leaned in. Asked me if you were okay. If you were alive.”

Draco could only stare, afraid to breathe, afraid to move. 

“She loved you so much, Draco,” Harry continued, his thumb caressing Draco’s cheek. “She risked her life to make sure you were okay.”

Draco smiled softly, and Harry wiped away the tears from his eyelashes. “I loved her too.”

Harry continued to rub against his cheek, his hands dropping to Draco’s chest, to his spine. “I know,” Harry answered, pulling Draco as close to him as he could. “And I think I might love you.”

Draco only responded with a heave of his chest, and a small snore escaping his lips.

\---

He awoke to a high pitched squeal so close to his ear.

“Niles!” Draco cried out, opening his eyes and seeing his Knarl nose to nose with its owner.

Harry’s chest rumbled beneath him, as a laugh escaped his mouth. “Looks like someone’s hungry.” His arms wrapped around Draco in a hug, the pads of his thumbs rubbing circles around Draco’s nipples.

“Well, uhhh,” Draco tried to swallow down his sigh at how good Harry’s fingers felt dancing along his chest. “I’m just surprised. He’s never been much of a cuddler.”

Harry chuckled again. “If you had told me how good of a cuddler you were even a week ago, I wouldn’t have believed you.” He placed a kiss on Draco’s head, before leaning further. “Not that I’m complaining.” He whispered into Draco’s ear. 

The sun was glinting through the tiny window in his front door, and Draco sat up with a start. He cast a quick Tempus, wincing at the time. 

“Shit, it’s already seven, we must have fallen asleep.”

Harry put his hands on Draco’s hips, pulling him back down into his arms. “Five more minutes, yeah? And then I’ll make this little cutie some breakfast.” 

Draco sighed, letting his body rest back into Harry’s. “Are you talking to me or Niles,” he asked with a smirk.

“Both,” Harry answered, but as Draco let his eyes close once more, he swore he could hear Harry whispering little coos to his prickly pet.

Draco was so happy, waking up in Harry’s arms finally after all these years. It felt better than he ever expected it could. 

\---

It was just another Tuesday. The sun was shining, his hair was being proper, and unlike the previous Thursday, Draco Malfoy loved his job.

He kissed his boyfriend goodbye, pulled his satchel across his chest and headed happily to work. For Draco Malfoy had the honour of bringing to the world what he already had: everything to lose.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please support the author by clicking on the kudos button and leaving a comment below! ♥


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